---
title: "Metamorphoses"
author: "Ovid"
translator: "Brookes More"
title_ru: "Метаморфозы"
author_ru: "Овидий"
languages: [la, en]
shelf: "Classical Latin"
section: 7 of 30
url: https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/7/
cite: "Ovid, tr. Brookes More, Metamorphoses, section 7. Scriptura (scriptura.si), https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/7/"
---

# Metamorphoses

*Ovid, tr. Brookes More*

Russian: Метаморфозы, Овидий

Bodies changed into new forms, from the creation of the world to the deification of Julius Caesar: Daphne, Narcissus, Pyramus and Thisbe, Icarus, Orpheus.

> Latin: ed. Hugo Magnus, from the Perseus Digital Library (canonical-latinLit, phi0959.phi006, CC BY-SA 4.0).

> English: Brookes More, from the Perseus Digital Library (phi0959.phi006.perseus-eng3). Notes are not included.

> Rows follow the references the two texts share (line numbers), cut where both reach the end of a sentence.

## 7. Book IV · lines 1–415

Source: https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/7/ · cite a paragraph as https://scriptura.si/works/ovid-metamorphoses/7/#p-N

[¶0] Alcithoe, daughter of King Minyas,
consents not to the orgies of the God;
denies that Bacchus is the son of Jove,
and her two sisters join her in that crime.
'Twas festal-day when matrons and their maids,
keeping it sacred, had forbade all toil.—
And having draped their bosoms with wild skins,
they loosed their long hair for the sacred wreaths,
and took the leafy thyrsus in their hands;—
for so the priest commanded them. Austere
the wrath of Bacchus if his power be scorned.
Mothers and youthful brides obeyed the priest;
and putting by their wickers and their webs,
dropt their unfinished toils to offer up
frankincense to the God; invoking him
with many names:—“O Bacchus! O Twice-born!
O Fire-begot! Thou only child Twice-mothered!
God of all those who plant the luscious grape!
O Liber!” All these names and many more,
for ages known—throughout the lands of Greece.
“Thy youth is not consumed by wasting time;
and lo, thou art an ever-youthful boy,
most beautiful of all the Gods of Heaven,
smooth as a virgin when thy horns are hid.—
The distant east to tawny India's clime,
where rolls remotest Ganges to the sea,
was conquered by thy might.—O Most-revered!
Thou didst destroy the doubting Pentheus,
and hurled the sailors' bodies in the deep,
and smote Lycurgus, wielder of the ax.
“And thou dost guide thy lynxes, double-yoked,
with showy harness.—Satyrs follow thee;
and Bacchanals, and old Silenus, drunk,
unsteady on his staff; jolting so rough
on his small back-bent ass; and all the way
resounds a youthful clamour; and the screams
of women! and the noise of tambourines!
And the hollow cymbals! and the boxwood flutes,—
fitted with measured holes.—Thou art implored
by all Ismenian women to appear
peaceful and mild; and they perform thy rites.”
Only the daughters of King Minyas
are carding wool within their fastened doors,
or twisting with their thumbs the fleecy yarn,
or working at the web. So they corrupt
the sacred festival with needless toil,
keeping their hand-maids busy at the work.
And one of them, while drawing out the thread
with nimble thumb, anon began to speak;
“While others loiter and frequent these rites
fantastic, we the wards of Pallas, much
to be preferred, by speaking novel thoughts
may lighten labour. Let us each in turn,
relate to an attentive audience,
a novel tale; and so the hours may glide.”
it pleased her sisters, and they ordered her
to tell the story that she loved the most.
So, as she counted in her well-stored mind
the many tales she knew, first doubted she
whether to tell the tale of Derceto,—
that Babylonian, who, aver the tribes
of Palestine, in limpid ponds yet lives,—
her body changed, and scales upon her limbs;
or how her daughter, having taken wings,
passed her declining years in whitened towers.
Or should she tell of Nais, who with herbs,
too potent, into fishes had transformed
the bodies of her lovers, till she met
herself the same sad fate; or of that tree
which sometime bore white fruit, but now is changed
and darkened by the blood that stained its roots.—
Pleased with the novelty of this, at once
she tells the tale of Pyramus and Thisbe;—
and swiftly as she told it unto them,
the fleecy wool was twisted into threads.

> Latin: At non Alcithoe Minyeias orgia censet
accipienda dei, sed adhuc temeraria Bacchum
progeniem negat esse Iovis, sociasque sorores
inpietatis habet. Festum celebrare sacerdos
inmunesque operum famulas dominasque suorum
pectora pelle tegi, crinales solvere vittas,
serta coma, manibus frondentes sumere thyrsos
iusserat, et saevam laesi fore numinis iram
vaticinatus erat. Parent matresque nurusque
telasque calathosque infectaque pensa reponunt,
turaque dant Bacchumque vocant Bromiumque Lyaeumque
ignigenamque satumque iterum solumque bimatrem:
additur his Nyseus indetonsusque Thyoneus,
et cum Lenaeo genialis consitor uvae,
Nycteliusque Eleleusque parens et Iacchus et Euhan,
et quae praeterea per Graias plurima gentes
nomina, Liber, habes. Tibi enim inconsumpta iuventa est,
tu puer aeternus, tu formosissimus alto
conspiceris caelo, tibi, cum sine cornibus adstas,
virgineum caput est. Oriens tibi victus, adusque
decolor extremo qua tingitur India Gange:
Penthea tu, venerande, bipenniferumque Lycurgum
sacrilegos mactas, Tyrrhenaque mittis in aequor
corpora, tu biiugum pictis insignia frenis
colla premis lyncum; bacchae satyrique sequuntur,
quique senex ferula titubantes ebrius artus
sustinet et pando non fortiter haeret asello.
Quacumque ingrederis, clamor iuvenalis et una
femineae voces inpulsaque tympana palmis
concavaque aera sonant longoque foramine buxus.
“Placatus mitisque” rogant Ismenides “adsis,”
iussaque sacra colunt. Solae Minyeides intus
intempestiva turbantes festa Minerva
aut ducunt lanas, aut stamina pollice versant,
aut haerent telae famulasque laboribus urgent.
E quibus una levi deducens pollice filum
“dum cessant aliae commentaque sacra frequentant,
nos quoque, quas Pallas, melior dea, detinet” inquit,
“utile opus manuum vario sermone levemus:
perque vices aliquid, quod tempora longa videri
non sinat, in medium vacuas referamus ad aures.”
Dicta probant primamque iubent narrare sorores.
Illa, quid e multis referat (nam plurima norat),
cogitat et dubia est, de te, Babylonia, narret,
Derceti, quam versa squamis velantibus artus
stagna Palaestini credunt motasse figura;
an magis, ut sumptis illius filia pennis
extremos albis in turribus egerit annos;
nais an ut cantu nimiumque potentibus herbis
verterit in tacitos iuvenalia corpora pisces,
donec idem passa est; an, quae poma alba ferebat,
ut nunc nigra ferat contactu sanguinis arbor.
Hoc placet, hanc, quoniam vulgaris fabula non est,
talibus orsa modis, lana sua fila sequente:

[¶1] When Pyramus and Thisbe, who were known
the one most handsome of all youthful men,
the other loveliest of all eastern girls,—
lived in adjoining houses, near the walls
that Queen Semiramis had built of brick
around her famous city, they grew fond,
and loved each other—meeting often there—
and as the days went by their love increased.
They wished to join in marriage, but that joy
their fathers had forbidden them to hope;
and yet the passion that with equal strength
inflamed their minds no parents could forbid.
No relatives had guessed their secret love,
for all their converse was by nods and signs;
and as a smoldering fire may gather heat,
the more 'tis smothered, so their love increased.
Now, it so happened, a partition built
between their houses, many years ago,
was made defective with a little chink;
a small defect observed by none, although
for ages there; but what is hid from love?
Our lovers found the secret opening,
and used its passage to convey the sounds
of gentle, murmured words, whose tuneful note
passed oft in safety through that hidden way.
There, many a time, they stood on either side,
thisbe on one and Pyramus the other,
and when their warm breath touched from lip to lip,
their sighs were such as this: “Thou envious wall
why art thou standing in the way of those
who die for love? What harm could happen thee
shouldst thou permit us to enjoy our love?
But if we ask too much, let us persuade
that thou wilt open while we kiss but once:
for, we are not ungrateful; unto thee
we own our debt; here thou hast left a way
that breathed words may enter loving ears.,”
so vainly whispered they, and when the night
began to darken they exchanged farewells;
made presence that they kissed a fond farewell
vain kisses that to love might none avail.
When dawn removed the glimmering lamps of night,
and the bright sun had dried the dewy grass
again they met where they had told their love;
and now complaining of their hapless fate,
in murmurs gentle, they at last resolved,
away to slip upon the quiet night,
elude their parents, and, as soon as free,
quit the great builded city and their homes.
Fearful to wander in the pathless fields,
they chose a trysting place, the tomb of Ninus,
where safely they might hide unseen, beneath
the shadow of a tall mulberry tree,
covered with snow-white fruit, close by a spring.
All is arranged according to their hopes:
and now the daylight, seeming slowly moved,
sinks in the deep waves, and the tardy night
arises from the spot where day declines.
Quickly, the clever Thisbe having first
deceived her parents, opened the closed door.
She flitted in the silent night away;
and, having veiled her face, reached the great tomb,
and sat beneath the tree; love made her bold.
There, as she waited, a great lioness
approached the nearby spring to quench her thirst:
her frothing jaws incarnadined with blood
of slaughtered oxen. As the moon was bright,
Thisbe could see her, and affrighted fled
with trembling footstep to a gloomy cave;
and as she ran she slipped and dropped her veil,
which fluttered to the ground. She did not dare
to save it. Wherefore, when the savage beast
had taken a great draft and slaked her thirst,
and thence had turned to seek her forest lair,
she found it on her way, and full of rage,
tore it and stained it with her bloody jaws:
but Thisbe, fortunate, escaped unseen.
Now Pyramus had not gone out so soon
as Thisbe to the tryst; and, when he saw
the certain traces of that savage beast,
imprinted in the yielding dust, his face
went white with fear; but when he found the veil
covered with blood, he cried; “Alas, one night
has caused the ruin of two lovers! Thou
wert most deserving of completed days,
but as for me, my heart is guilty! I
destroyed thee! O my love! I bade thee come
out in the dark night to a lonely haunt,
and failed to go before. Oh! whatever lurks
beneath this rock, though ravenous lion, tear
my guilty flesh, and with most cruel jaws
devour my cursed entrails! What? Not so;
it is a craven's part to wish for death!”
So he stopped briefly; and took up the veil;
went straightway to the shadow of the tree;
and as his tears bedewed the well-known veil,
he kissed it oft and sighing said, “Kisses
and tears are thine, receive my blood as well.”
And he imbrued the steel, girt at his side,
deep in his bowels; and plucked it from the wound,
a-faint with death. As he fell back to earth,
his spurting blood shot upward in the air;
so, when decay has rift a leaden pipe
a hissing jet of water spurts on high.—
By that dark tide the berries on the tree
assumed a deeper tint, for as the roots
soaked up the blood the pendent mulberries
were dyed a purple tint.
Thisbe returned,
though trembling still with fright, for now she thought
her lover must await her at the tree,
and she should haste before he feared for her.
Longing to tell him of her great escape
she sadly looked for him with faithful eyes;
but when she saw the spot and the changed tree,
she doubted could they be the same, for so
the colour of the hanging fruit deceived.
While doubt dismayed her, on the ground she saw
the wounded body covered with its blood;—
she started backward, and her face grew pale
and ashen; and she shuddered like the sea,
which trembles when its face is lightly skimmed
by the chill breezes;—and she paused a space;—
but when she knew it was the one she loved,
she struck her tender breast and tore her hair.
Then wreathing in her arms his loved form,
she bathed the wound with tears, mingling her grief
in his unquenched blood; and as she kissed
his death-cold features wailed; “Ah Pyramus,
what cruel fate has taken thy life away?
Pyramus! Pyramus! awake! awake!
It is thy dearest Thisbe calls thee! Lift
thy drooping head! Alas,”—At Thisbe's name
he raised his eyes, though languorous in death,
and darkness gathered round him as he gazed.
And then she saw her veil; and near it lay
his ivory sheath—but not the trusty sword
and once again she wailed; “Thy own right hand,
and thy great passion have destroyed thee!—
And I? my hand shall be as bold as thine—
my love shall nerve me to the fatal deed—
thee, I will follow to eternity—
though I be censured for the wretched cause,
so surely I shall share thy wretched fate:—
alas, whom death could me alone bereave,
thou shalt not from my love be reft by death!
And, O ye wretched parents, mine and his,
let our misfortunes and our pleadings melt
your hearts, that ye no more deny to those
whom constant love and lasting death unite—
entomb us in a single sepulchre.
“And, O thou tree of many-branching boughs,
spreading dark shadows on the corpse of one,
destined to cover twain, take thou our fate
upon thy head; mourn our untimely deaths;
let thy fruit darken for a memory,
an emblem of our blood.” No more she said;
and having fixed the point below her breast,
she fell on the keen sword, still warm with his red blood.
But though her death was out of Nature's law
her prayer was answered, for it moved the Gods
and moved their parents. Now the Gods have changed
the ripened fruit which darkens on the branch:
and from the funeral pile their parents sealed
their gathered ashes in a single urn.

> Latin: “Pyramus et Thisbe, iuvenum pulcherrimus alter,
altera, quas oriens habuit, praelata puellis,
contiguas tenuere domos, ubi dicitur altam
coctilibus muris cinxisse Semiramis urbem.
Notitiam primosque gradus vicinia fecit:
tempore crevit amor. Taedae quoque iure coissent:
sed vetuere patres. Quod non potuere vetare,
ex aequo captis ardebant mentibus ambo.
Conscius omnis abest: nutu signisque loquuntur,
quoque magis tegitur, tectus magis aestuat ignis.
Fissus erat tenui rima, quam duxerat olim,
cum fieret paries domui communis utrique.
Id vitium nulli per saecula longa notatum
(quid non sentit amor?) primi vidistis amantes,
et vocis fecistis iter; tutaeque per illud
murmure blanditiae minimo transire solebant.
Saepe, ubi constiterant hinc Thisbe, Pyramus illinc,
inque vices fuerat captatus anhelitus oris,
“invide” dicebant “paries, quid amantibus obstas?
quantum erat, ut sineres toto nos corpore iungi,
aut hoc si nimium est, vel ad oscula danda pateres?
Nec sumus ingrati: tibi nos debere fatemur,
quod datus est verbis ad amicas transitus aures.”
Talia diversa nequiquam sede locuti
sub noctem dixere ”vale” partique dedere
oscula quisque suae non pervenientia contra.
Postera nocturnos aurora removerat ignes,
solque pruinosas radiis siccaverat herbas:
ad solitum coiere locum. Tum murmure parvo
multa prius questi, statuunt, ut nocte silenti
fallere custodes foribusque excedere temptent,
cumque domo exierint, urbis quoque tecta relinquant;
neve sit errandum lato spatiantibus arvo,
conveniant ad busta Nini lateantque sub umbra
arboris. Arbor ibi, niveis uberrima pomis
ardua morus, erat, gelido contermina fonti.
Pacta placent. Et lux, tarde discedere visa,
praecipitatur aquis, et aquis nox exit ab isdem.
Callida per tenebras versato cardine Thisbe
egreditur fallitque suos, adopertaque vultum
pervenit ad tumulum, dictaque sub arbore sedit.
Audacem faciebat amor. Venit ecce recenti
caede leaena boum spumantes oblita rictus,
depositura sitim vicini fontis in unda.
Quam procul ad lunae radios Babylonia Thisbe
vidit et obscurum timido pede fugit in antrum,
dumque fugit, tergo velamina lapsa reliquit.
Ut lea saeva sitim multa conpescuit unda,
dum redit in silvas, inventos forte sine ipsa
ore cruentato tenues laniavit amictus.
Serius egressus vestigia vidit in alto
pulvere certa ferae totoque expalluit ore
Pyramus: ut vero vestem quoque sanguine tinctam
repperit, “una duos” inquit “nox perdet amantes.
E quibus illa fuit longa dignissima vita,
nostra nocens anima est: ego te, miseranda, peremi,
in loca plena metus qui iussi nocte venires,
nec prior huc veni. Nostrum divellite corpus,
et scelerata fero consumite viscera morsu,
o quicumque sub hac habitatis rupe, leones.
Sed timidi est optare necem.” Velamina Thisbes
tollit et ad pactae secum fert arboris umbram;
utque dedit notae lacrimas, dedit oscula vesti,
“accipe nunc” inquit “nostri quoque sanguinis haustus!”
quoque erat accinctus, demisit in ilia ferrum,
nec mora, ferventi moriens e vulnere traxit.
Ut iacuit resupinus humo: cruor emicat alte,
non aliter quam cum vitiato fistula plumbo
scinditur et tenui stridente foramine longas
eiaculatur aquas atque ictibus aera rumpit.
Arborei fetus adspergine caedis in atram
vertuntur faciem, madefactaque sanguine radix
purpureo tingit pendentia mora colore.
Ecce metu nondum posito, ne fallat amantem,
illa redit iuvenemque oculis animoque requirit,
quantaque vitarit narrare pericula gestit.
Utque locum et visa cognoscit in arbore formam,
sic facit incertam pomi color: haeret, an haec sit.
Dum dubitat, tremebunda videt pulsare cruentum
membra solum, retroque pedem tulit, oraque buxo
pallidiora gerens exhorruit aequoris instar,
quod tremit, exigua cum summum stringitur aura.
Sed postquam remorata suos cognovit amores,
percutit indignos claro plangore lacertos,
et laniata comas amplexaque corpus amatum
vulnera supplevit lacrimis fletumque cruori
miscuit et gelidis in vultibus oscula figens
“Pyrame” clamavit “quis te mihi casus ademit?
Pyrame, responde: tua te carissima Thisbe
nominat: exaudi vultusque attolle iacentes!”
Ad nomen Thisbes oculos iam morte gravatos
Pyramus erexit, visaque recondidit illa.
Quae postquam vestemque suam cognovit et ense
vidit ebur vacuum, “tua te manus” inquit “amorque
perdidit, infelix. Est et mihi fortis in unum
hoc manus, est et amor: dabit hic in vulnera vires.
Persequar exstinctum letique miserrima dicar
causa comesque tui; quique a me morte revelli
heu sola poteras, poteris nec morte revelli.
Hoc tamen amborum verbis estote rogati,
o multum miseri meus illiusque parentes,
ut quos certus amor, quos hora novissima iunxit,
conponi tumulo non invideatis eodem.
At tu quae ramis arbor miserabile corpus
nunc tegis unius, mox es tectura duorum,
signa tene caedis pullosque et luctibus aptos
semper habe fetus, gemini monimenta cruoris.”
Dixit, et aptato pectus mucrone sub imum
incubuit ferro, quod adhuc a caede tepebat.
Vota tamen tetigere deos, tetigere parentes:
nam color in pomo est, ubi permaturuit, ater,
quodque rogis superest, una requiescit in urna.”

[¶2] So ended she; at once Leuconoe
took the narrator's thread; and as she spoke
her sisters all were silent.
“Even the Sun
that rules the world was captive made of Love.
My theme shall be a love-song of the Sun.
'Tis said the Lord of Day, whose wakeful eye
beholds at once whatever may transpire,
witnessed the loves of Mars and Venus. Grieved
to know the wrong, he called the son of Juno,
Vulcan, and gave full knowledge of the deed,
showing how Mars and Venus shamed his love,
as they defiled his bed. Vulcan amazed,—
the nimble-thoughted Vulcan lost his wits,
so that he dropped the work his right hand held.
But turning from all else at once he set
to file out chains of brass, delicate, fine,
from which to fashion nets invisible,
filmy of mesh and airy as the thread
of insect-web, that from the rafter swings.—
Implicit woven that they yielded soft
the slightest movement or the gentlest touch,
with cunning skill he drew them round the bed
where they were sure to dally. Presently
appeared the faithless wife, and on the couch
lay down to languish with her paramour.—
Meshed in the chains they could not thence arise,
nor could they else but lie in strict embrace,—
cunningly thus entrapped by Vulcan's wit.—
At once the Lemnian cuckold opened wide
the folding ivory doors and called the Gods,—
to witness. There they lay disgraced and bound.
I wot were many of the lighter Gods
who wished themselves in like disgraceful bonds.—
The Gods were moved to laughter: and the tale
was long most noted in the courts of Heaven.
The Cytherean Venus brooded on
the Sun's betrayal of her stolen joys,
and thought to torture him in passion's pains,
and wreak requital for the pain he caused.
Son of Hyperion! what avails thy light?
What is the profit of thy glowing heat?
Lo, thou whose flames have parched innumerous lands,
thyself art burning with another flame!
And thou whose orb should joy the universe
art gazing only on Leucothea's charms.
Thy glorious eye on one fair maid is fixed,
forgetting all besides. Too early thou
art rising from thy bed of orient skies,
too late thy setting in the western waves;
so taking time to gaze upon thy love,
thy frenzy lengthens out the wintry hour!
And often thou art darkened in eclipse,
dark shadows of this trouble in thy mind,
unwonted aspect, casting man perplexed
in abject terror. Pale thou art, though not
betwixt thee and the earth the shadowous moon
bedims thy devious way. Thy passion gives
to grief thy countenance—for her thy heart
alone is grieving—Clymene and Rhodos,
and Persa, mother of deluding Circe,
are all forgotten for thy doting hope;
even Clytie, who is yearning for thy love,
no more can charm thee; thou art so foredone.
Leucothea is the cause of many tears,
Leucothea, daughter of Eurynome,
most beauteous matron of Arabia's strand,
where spicey odours blow. Eurynome
in youthful prime excelled her mother's grace,
and, save her daughter, all excelled besides.
Leucothea's father, Orchamas was king
where Achaemenes whilom held the sway;
and Orchamas from ancient Belus' death
might count his reign the seventh in descent.
The dark-night pastures of Apollo's steeds
are hid below the western skies; when there,
and spent with toil, in lieu of nibbling herbs
they take ambrosial food: it gives their limbs
restoring strength and nourishes anew.
Now while these coursers eat celestial food
and Night resumes his reign, the god appears
disguised, unguessed, as old Eurynome
to fair Leucothea as she draws the threads,
all smoothly twisted from her spindle. There
she sits with twice six hand-maids ranged around,
and as the god beholds her at the door
he kisses her, as if a child beloved
and he her mother. And he spoke to her:
“Let thy twelve hand-maids leave us undisturbed,
for I have things of close import to tell,
and seemly, from a mother to her child.”,
so when they all withdrew the god began,
“Lo, I am he who measures the long year;
I see all things, and through me the wide world
may see all things; I am the glowing eye
of the broad universe! Thou art to me
the glory of the earth!” Filled with alarm,
from her relaxed fingers she let fall
the distaff and the spindle, but, her fear
so lovely in her beauty seemed, the God
no longer brooked delay: he changed his form
back to his wonted beauty and resumed
his bright celestial. Startled at the sight
the maid recoiled a space; but presently
the glory of the god inspired her love;
and all her timid doubts dissolved away;
without complaint she melted in his arms.
So ardently the bright Apollo loved,
that Clytie, envious of Leucothea's joy,
where evil none was known, a scandal made;
and having published wide their secret love,
leucothea's father also heard the tale.
Relentlessly and fierce, his cruel hand
buried his living daughter in the ground,
who, while her arms implored the glowing Sun,
complained. “For love of thee my life is lost.”
And as she wailed her father sowed her there.
Hyperion's Son began with piercing heat
to scatter the loose sand, a way to open,
that she might look with beauteous features forth
too late! for smothered by the compact earth,
thou canst not lift thy drooping head; alas!
A lifeless corse remains.
No sadder sight
since Phaethon was blasted by the bolt,
down-hurled by Jove, had ever grieved the God
who daily drives his winged steeds. In vain
he strives with all the magic of his rays
to warm her limbs anew. — The deed is done—
what vantage gives his might if fate deny?
He sprinkles fragrant nectar on her grave,
and lifeless corse, and as he wails exclaims,
“But naught shall hinder you to reach the skies.”
At once the maiden's body, steeped in dews
of nectar, sweet and odourate, dissolves
and adds its fragrant juices to the earth:
slowly from this a sprout of Frankincense
takes root in riched soil, and bursting through
the sandy hillock shows its top.
No more
to Clytie comes the author of sweet light,
for though her love might make excuse of grief,
and grief may plead to pardon jealous words,
his heart disdains the schemist of his woe;
and she who turned to sour the sweet of love,
from that unhallowed moment pined away.
Envious and hating all her sister Nymphs,
day after day,—and through the lonely nights,
all unprotected from the chilly breeze,
her hair dishevelled, tangled, unadorned,
she sat unmoved upon the bare hard ground.
Nine days the Nymph was nourished by the dews,
or haply by her own tears' bitter brine;—
all other nourishment was naught to her.—
She never raised herself from the bare ground,
though on the god her gaze was ever fixed;—
she turned her features towards him as he moved:
they say that afterwhile her limbs took root
and fastened to the around.
A pearly white
overspread her countenance, that turned as pale
and bloodless as the dead; but here and there
a blushing tinge resolved in violet tint;
and something like the blossom of that name
a flower concealed her face. Although a root
now holds her fast to earth, the Heliotrope
turns ever to the Sun, as if to prove
that all may change and love through all remain.

> Latin: Desierat, mediumque fuit breve tempus, et orsa est
dicere Leuconoe: vocem tenuere sorores.
“Hunc quoque, siderea qui temperat omnia luce,
cepit amor Solem: Solis referemus amores.
Primus adulterium Veneris cum Marte putatur
hic vidisse deus: videt hic deus omnia primus.
Indoluit facto, Iunonigenaeque marito
furta tori furtique locum monstravit. At illi
et mens et quod opus fabrilis dextra tenebat
excidit. Extemplo graciles ex aere catenas
retiaque et laqueos, quae lumina fallere possent,
elimat (non illud opus tenuissima vincant
stamina, non summo quae pendet aranea tigno),
utque leves tactus momentaque parva sequantur
efficit et lecto circumdata collocat arte.
Ut venere torum coniunx et adulter in unum,
arte viri vinclisque nova ratione paratis
in mediis ambo deprensi amplexibus haerent.
Lemnius extemplo valvas patefecit eburnas
admisitque deos: illi iacuere ligati
turpiter; atque aliquis de dis non tristibus optat
sic fieri turpis: superi risere, diuque
haec fuit in toto notissima fabula caelo.
Exigit indicii memorem Cythereia poenam,
inque vices illum, tectos qui laesit amores,
laedit amore pari. Quid nunc, Hyperione nate,
forma colorque tibi radiataque lumina prosunt?
Nempe tuis omnes qui terras ignibus uris,
ureris igne novo; quique omnia cernere debes,
Leucothoen spectas, et virgine figis in una,
quos mundo debes oculos. Modo surgis Eoo
temperius caelo, modo serius incidis undis,
spectandique mora brumales porrigis horas,
deficis interdum, vitiumque in lumina mentis
transit et obscurus mortalia pectora terres.
Nec, tibi quod lunae terris propioris imago
obstiterit, palles: facit hunc amor iste colorem.
Diligis hanc unam; nec te Clymeneque Rhodosque
nec tenet Aeaeae genetrix pulcherrima Circes,
quaeque tuos Clytie quamvis despecta petebat
concubitus ipsoque illo grave vulnus habebat
tempore: Leucothoe multarum oblivia fecit,
gentis odoriferae quam formosissima partu
edidit Eurynome. Sed postquam filia crevit,
quam mater cunctas, tam matrem filia vicit.
Rexit Achaemenias urbes pater Orchamus, isque
septimus a prisco numeratur origine Belo.
Axe sub Hesperio sunt pascua Solis equorum.
Ambrosiam pro gramine habent: ea fessa diurnis
membra ministeriis nutrit reparatque labori.
Dumque ibi quadrupedes caelestia pabula carpunt,
noxque vicem peragit, thalamos deus intrat amatos,
versus in Eurynomes faciem genetricis, et inter
bis sex Leucothoen famulas ad lumina cernit
levia versato ducentem stamina fuso.
Ergo ubi ceu mater carae dedit oscula natae,
“res” ait “arcana est. Famulae, discedite neve
eripite arbitrium matri secreta loquendi.”
Paruerant: thalamoque deus sine teste relicto
“ille ego sum” dixit, “qui longum metior annum,
omnia qui video, per quem videt omnia tellus,
mundi oculus. Mihi, crede, places.” Pavet illa, metuque
et colus et fusus digitis cecidere remissis.
Ipse timor decuit. Nec longius ille moratus
in veram rediit speciem solitumque nitorem:
at virgo, quamvis inopino territa visu,
victa nitore dei posita vim passa querella est.
Invidit Clytie (neque enim moderatus in illa
Solis amor fuerat), stimulataque paelicis ira
vulgat adulterium diffamatumque parenti
indicat. Ille ferox inmansuetusque precantem
tendentemque manus ad lumina Solis et “ille
vim tulit invitae” dicentem defodit alta
crudus humo, tumulumque super gravis addit harenae.
Dissipat hunc radiis Hyperione natus iterque
dat tibi, qua possis defossos promere vultus.
Nec tu iam poteras enectum pondere terrae
tollere, nympha, caput corpusque exsangue iacebas.
Nil illo fertur volucrum moderator equorum
post Phaethonteos vidisse dolentius ignes.
Ille quidem gelidos radiorum viribus artus
si queat in vivum temptat revocare calorem:
sed quoniam tantis fatum conatibus obstat,
nectare odorato sparsit corpusque locumque,
multaque praequestus “tanges tamen aethera” dixit.
Protinus inbutum caelesti nectare corpus
dilicuit terramque suo madefecit odore:
virgaque per glaebas sensim radicibus actis
turea surrexit tumulumque cacumine rupit.
At Clytien, quamvis amor excusare dolorem,
indiciumque dolor poterat, non amplius auctor
lucis adit venerisque modum sibi fecit in illa.
Tabuit ex illo dementer amoribus usa
nympha larum inpatiens, et sub Iove nocte dieque
sedit humo nuda, nudis incompta capillis,
perque novem luces expers undaeque cibique
rore mero lacrimisque suis ieiunia pavit
nec se movit humo: tantum spectabat euntis
ora dei vultusque suos flectebat ad illum.
Membra ferunt haesisse solo, partemque coloris
luridus exsangues pallor convertit in herbas;
est in parte rubor, violaeque simillimus ora
flos tegit. Illa suum, quamvis radice tenetur,
vertitur ad Solem, mutataque servat amorem.”

[¶3] Thus was the story ended. All were charmed
to hear recounted such mysterious deeds.
While some were doubting whether such were true
others affirmed that to the living Gods
is nothing to restrain their wondrous works,
though surely of the Gods, immortal, none
accorded Bacchus even thought or place.
When all had made an end of argument,
they bade Alcithoe take up the word:
she, busily working on the pendent web,
still shot the shuttle through the warp and said;
“The amours of the shepherd Daphnis, known
to many of you, I shall not relate;
the shepherd Daphnis of Mount Ida, who
was turned to stone obdurate, for the Nymph
whose love he slighted—so the rivalry
of love neglected rouses to revenge:
neither shall I relate the story told
of Scython, double-sexed, who first was man,
then altered to a woman: so I pass
the tale of Celmus turned to adamant,
who reared almighty Jove from tender youth:
so, likewise the Curetes whom the rain
brought forth to life: Smilax and Crocus, too,
transpeciated into little flowers:
all these I pass to tell a novel tale,
which haply may resolve in pleasant thoughts.
Learn how the fountain, Salmacis, became
so infamous; learn how it enervates
and softens the limbs of those who chance to bathe.
Although the fountain's properties are known,
the cause is yet unknown. The Naiads nursed
an infant son of Hermes, surely his
of Aphrodite gotten in the caves
of Ida, for the child resembled both
the god and goddess, and his name was theirs.
The years passed by, and when the boy had reached
the limit of three lustrums, he forsook
his native mountains; for he loved to roam
through unimagined places, by the banks
of undiscovered rivers; and the joy
of finding wonders made his labour light.
Leaving Mount Ida, where his youth was spent,
he reached the land of Lycia, and from thence
the verge of Caria, where a pretty pool
of soft translucent water may be seen,
so clear the glistening bottom glads the eye:
no barren sedge, no fenny reeds annoy,
no rushes with their sharpened arrow-points,
but all around the edges of that pool
the softest grass engirdles with its green.
A Nymph dwells there, unsuited to the chase,
unskilled to bend the bow, slothful of foot,
the only Naiad in the world unknown
to rapid-running Dian. Whensoever
her Naiad sisters pled in winged words,
“Take up the javelin, sister Salmacis,
take up the painted quiver and unite
your leisure with the action of the chase;”
she only scorned the javelin and the quiver,
nor joined her leisure to the active chase.
Rather she bathes her smooth and shapely limbs;
or combs her tresses with a boxwood comb,
Citorian; or looking in the pool
consults the glassed waters of effects
increasing beauty; or she decks herself
in gauzy raiment, and reposing lolls
on cushioned leaves, or grass-enverdured beds;
or gathers posies from the spangled lawns.
Now, haply as she culled the sweetest flowers
she saw the youth, and longing in her heart
made havoc as her greedy eyes beheld.
Although her love could scarcely brook delay,
she waited to enhance her loveliness,
in beauty hoping to allure his love.
All richly dight she scanned herself and robes,
to know that every charm should fair appear,
and she be worthy: wherefore she began:
“O godlike youth! if thou art of the skies,
thou art no other than the god of Love;
if mortal, blest are they who gave thee birth;
happy thy brother; happy, fortunate
thy sister; happy, fortunate and blest
the nurse that gave her bosom; but the joys
surpassing all, dearest and tenderest,
are hers whom thou shalt wed. So, let it be
if thou so young have deigned to marry, let
my joys be stolen; if unmarried, join
with me in wedlock.” So she spoke, and stood
in silence waiting for the youth's reply.
He knows nor cares for love—with loveliness
the mounting blushes tinge his youthful cheeks,
as blush-red tint of apples on the tree,
ripe in the summer sun, or as the hue
of painted ivory, or the round moon
red-blushing in her splendour, when the clash
of brass resounds in vain. And long the Nymph
implored; almost clung on his neck, as smooth
and white as ivory; unceasingly
imploring him to kiss her, though as chaste
as kisses to a sister; but the youth
outwearied, thus:
“I do beseech you make
an end of this; or must I fly the place
and leave you to your tears?” Affrighted then
said Salmacis, “To you I freely give—
good stranger here remain.” Although she made
fair presence to retire, she hid herself,
that from a shrub-grown covert, on her knees
she might observe unseen.
As any boy
that heedless deems his mischief unobserved,
now here now there, he rambled on the green;
now in the bubbly ripples dipped his feet,
now dallied in the clear pool ankle-deep;—
the warm-cool feeling of the liquid then,
so pleased him, that without delay he doffed
his fleecy garments from his tender limbs.
Ah, Salmacis, amazement is thy meed!
Thou art consumed to know his naked grace!
As the hot glitters of the round bright sun
collected, sparkle from the polished plate,
thine eyes are glistened with delirious fires.
Delay she cannot; panting for his joy,
languid for his caressing, crazed, distract,
her passion difficult is held in check.—
He claps his body with his hollow palms
and lightly vaults into the limped wave,
and darting through the water hand over hand
shines in the liquid element, as though
should one enhance a statue's ivorine,
or glaze the lily in a lake of glass.
And thus the Naiad, “I have gained my suit;
his love is mine,—is mine!” Quickly disrobed,
she plunged into the yielding wave—seized him,
caressed him, clung to him a thousand ways,
kissed him, thrust down her hands and touched his breast:
reluctant and resisting he endeavours
to make escape, but even as he struggles
she winds herself about him, as entwines
the serpent which the royal bird on high
holds in his talons; —as it hangs, it coils
in sinuous folds around the eagle's feet;—
twisting its coils around his head and wings:
or as the ivy clings to sturdy oaks;
or as the polypus beneath the waves,
by pulling down, with suckers on all sides,
tenacious holds its prey. And yet the youth,
descendant of great Atlas, not relents
nor gives the Naiad joy. Pressing her suit
she winds her limbs around him and exclaims,
“You shall not scape me, struggle as you will,
perverse and obstinate! Hear me, ye Gods!
Let never time release the youth from me;
time never let me from the youth release!”

> Latin: Dixerat, et factum mirabile ceperat aures.
Pars fieri potuisse negant, pars omnia veros
posse deos memorant: sed non et Bacchus in illis.
Poscitur Alcithoe, postquam siluere sorores.
Quae radio stantis percurrens stamina telae
“vulgatos taceo” dixit “pastoris amores
Daphnidis Idaei, quem nymphe paelicis ira
contulit in saxum (tantus dolor urit amantes).
Nec loquor, ut quondam naturae iure novato
ambiguus fuerit modo vir, modo femina Sithon.
Te quoque, nunc adamas, quondam fidissime parvo,
Celmi, Iovi, largoque satos Curetas ab imbri
et Crocon in parvos versum cum Smilace flores
praetereo, dulcique animos novitate tenebo.
Unde sit infamis, quare male fortibus undis
Salmacis enervet tactosque remolliat artus,
discite. Causa latet, vis est notissima fontis.
Mercurio puerum diva Cythereide natum
naides Idaeis enutrivere sub antris;
cuius erat facies, in qua materque paterque
cognosci possent; nomen quoque traxit ab illis.
Is tria cum primum fecit quinquennia, montes
deseruit patrios, Idaque altrice relicta
ignotis errare locis, ignota videre
flumina gaudebat, studio minuente laborem.
Ille etiam Lycias urbes Lyciaeque propinquos
Caras adit. Videt hic stagnum lucentis ad imum
usque solum lymphae. Non illic canna palustris
nec steriles ulvae nec acuta cuspide iunci:
perspicuus liquor est; stagni tamen ultima vivo
caespite cinguntur semperque virentibus herbis.
Nympha colit, sed nec venatibus apta, nec arcus
flectere quae soleat nec quae contendere cursu,
solaque naiadum celeri non nota Dianae.
Saepe suas illi fama est dixisse sorores:
“Salmaci, vel iaculum vel pictas sume pharetras,
et tua cum duris venatibus otia misce.”
Nec iaculum sumit nec pictas illa pharetras,
nec sua cum duris venatibus otia miscet,
sed modo fonte suo formosos perluit artus,
saepe Cytoriaco deducit pectine crines
et, quid se deceat, spectatas consulit undas;
nunc perlucenti circumdata corpus amictu
mollibus aut foliis aut mollibus incubat herbis;
saepe legit flores. Et tunc quoque forte legebat,
cum puerum vidit visumque optavit habere.
Nec tamen ante adiit, etsi properabat adire,
quam se conposuit, quam circumspexit amictus,
et finxit vultum et meruit formosa videri.
Tum sic orsa loqui: “Puer o dignissime credi
esse deus, seu tu deus es, potes esse Cupido,
sive es mortalis, qui te genuere, beati,
et frater felix, et fortunata profecto,
siqua tibi soror est, et quae dedit ubera nutrix:
sed longe cunctis longeque beatior illa,
siqua tibi sponsa est, siquam dignabere taeda.
Haec tibi sive aliqua est, mea sit furtiva voluptas,
seu nulla est, ego sim, thalamumque ineamus eundem.”
Nais ab his tacuit. Pueri rubor ora notavit
(nescit enim, quid amor), sed et erubuisse decebat.
Hic color aprica pendentibus arbore pomis
aut ebori tincto est, aut sub candore rubenti,
cum frustra resonant aera auxiliaria, lunae.
Poscenti nymphae sine fine sororia saltem
oscula iamque manus ad eburnea colla ferenti
“desinis? aut fugio, tecumque” ait “ista relinquo.”
Salmacis extimuit “loca” que “haec tibi libera trado,
hospes” ait, simulatque gradu discedere verso,
tunc quoque respiciens, fruticumque recondita silva
delituit, flexuque genu submisit. At ille,
scilicet ut vacuis et inobservatus in herbis,
huc it et hinc illuc, et in adludentibus undis
summa pedum taloque tenus vestigia tingit;
nec mora, temperie blandarum captus aquarum
mollia de tenero velamina corpore ponit.
Tum vero placuit, nudaeque cupidine formae
Salmacis exarsit: flagrant quoque lumina nymphae,
non aliter quam cum puro nitidissimus orbe
opposita speculi referitur imagine Phoebus.
Vixque moram patitur, vix iam sua gaudia differt,
iam cupit amplecti, iam se male continet amens.
Ille cavis velox adplauso corpore palmis
desilit in latices, alternaque bracchia ducens
in liquidis translucet aquis, ut eburnea siquis
signa tegat claro vel candida lilia vitro.
“Vicimus et meus est!” exclamat nais et omni
veste procul iacta mediis inmittitur undis,
pugnantemque tenet luctantiaque oscula carpit,
subiectatque manus invitaque pectora tangit,
et nunc hac iuveni, nunc circumfunditur illac;
denique nitentem contra elabique volentem
inplicat, ut serpens, quam regia sustinet ales
sublimemque rapit: pendens caput illa pedesque
adligat et cauda spatiantes inplicat alas:
utve solent hederae longos intexere truncos,
utque sub aequoribus deprensum polypus hostem
continet, ex omni dimissis parte flagellis.
Perstat Atlantiades, sperataque gaudia nymphae
denegat. Illa premit, commissaque corpore toto
sicut inhaerebat, “pugnes licet, inprobe” dixit,
“non tamen effugies. Ita di iubeatis! et istum
nulla dies a me nec me diducat ab isto.”

[¶4] Propitious deities accord her prayers:
the mingled bodies of the pair unite
and fashion in a single human form.
So one might see two branches underneath
a single rind uniting grow as one:
so, these two bodies in a firm embrace
no more are twain, but with a two-fold form
nor man nor woman may be called—Though both
in seeming they are neither one of twain.
When that Hermaphroditus felt the change,
so wrought upon him by the languid fount,
considered that he entered it a man,
and now his limbs relaxing in the stream
he is not wholly male, but only half,—
he lifted up his hands and thus implored,
albeit with no manly voice; “Hear me
O father! hear me mother! grant to me
this boon; to me whose name is yours, your son;
whoso shall enter in this fount a man
must leave its waters only half a man.”
Moved by the words of their bi-natured son
both parents yield assent: they taint the fount
with essences of dual-working powers.
Now though the daughters of King Minyas
have made an end of telling tales, they make
no end of labour; for they so despise
the deity, and desecrate his feast.
While busily engaged, with sudden beat
they hear resounding tambourines; and pipes
and crooked horns and tinkling brass renew,
unseen, the note; saffron and myrrh dissolve
in dulcet odours; and, beyond belief,
the woven webs, dependent on the loom,
take tints of green, put forth new ivy leaves,
or change to grape-vines verdant. There the thread
is twisted into tendrils, there the warp
is fashioned into many-moving leaves—
the purple lends its splendour to the grape.
And now the day is past; it is the hour
when night ambiguous merges into day,
which dubious owns nor light nor dun obscure;
and suddenly the house begins to shake,
and torches oil-dipped seem to flare around,
and fires a-glow to shine in every room,
and phantoms, feigned of savage beasts, to howl.—
Full of affright amid the smoking halls
the sisters vainly hide, and wheresoever
they deem security from flaming fires,
fearfully flit. And while they seek to hide,
a membrane stretches over every limb,
and light wings open from their slender arms.
In the weird darkness they are unaware
what measure wrought to change their wonted shape.
No plumous vans avail to lift their flight,
yet fair they balance on membraneous wing.
Whenever they would speak a tiny voice,
diminutive, apportioned to their size,
in squeaking note complains. Adread the light,
their haunts avoid by day the leafy woods,
for sombre attics, where secure they rest
till forth the dun obscure their wings may stretch
at hour of Vesper;—this accords their name.

> Latin: Vota suos habuere deos: nam mixta duorum
corpora iunguntur, faciesque inducitur illis
una, velut, siquis conducat cortice ramos,
crescendo iungi pariterque adolescere cernit.
Sic ubi conplexu coierunt membra tenaci,
nec duo sunt et forma duplex, nec femina dici
nec puer ut possit: neutrumque et utrumque videntur.
Ergo ubi se liquidas, quo vir descenderat, undas
semimarem fecisse videt, mollitaque in illis
membra, manus tendens, sed non iam voce virili,
Hermaphroditus ait: “Nato date munera vestro,
et pater et genetrix, amborum nomen habenti:
quisquis in hos fontes vir venerit, exeat inde
semivir et tactis subito mollescat in undis.”
Motus uterque parens nati rata verba biformis
fecit et incesto fontem medicamine tinxit.”
Finis erat dictis. Sed adhuc Minyeia proles
urget opus spernitque deum festumque profanat,
tympana cum subito non adparentia raucis
obstrepuere sonis, et adunco tibia cornu
tinnulaque aera sonant; redolent murraeque crocique,
resque fide maior, coepere virescere telae
inque hederae faciem pendens frondescere vestis.
Pars abit in vites, et quae modo fila fuerunt,
palmite mutantur; de stamine pampinus exit;
purpura fulgorem pictis adcommodat uvis.
Iamque dies exactus erat, tempusque subibat,
quod tu nec tenebras nec possis dicere lucem,
sed cum luce tamen dubiae confinia noctis:
tecta repente quati pinguesque ardere videntur
lampades et rutilis conlucere ignibus aedes
falsaque saevarum simulacra ululare ferarum.
Fumida iamdudum latitant per tecta sorores,
diversaeque locis ignes ac lumina vitant;
dumque petunt tenebras, parvos membrana per artus
porrigitur tenuique includit bracchia pinna.
Nec qua perdiderint veterem ratione figuram
scire sinunt tenebrae. Non illas pluma levavit,
sustinuere tamen se perlucentibus alis;
conataeque loqui minimam et pro corpore vocem
emittunt, peraguntque leves stridore querellas.
Tectaque, non silvas celebrant lucemque perosae
nocte volant, seroque tenent a vespere nomen.